


In Front of All the Kids

by enoughtotemptme



Series: BellarkeFicWeek [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Road Trips, Searching For Bunkers, Vague Optimistic Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughtotemptme/pseuds/enoughtotemptme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Raven finds records of more nearby bunkers in the Ark's old files, Bellamy, Clarke, Lincoln, and Octavia leave camp to search for much-needed supplies.</p><p>BellarkeFicWeek 2015 Prompt: Day 02 Road Trip AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Front of All the Kids

Raven’s preoccupied expression and the way she keeps her eyes on her tablet at dinner distract first Bellamy, then Clarke from Octavia’s impression of Jasper on _jobi_ nuts.

Clarke makes eye contact with Bellamy; he nods, and they slip over to where the mechanic is studying records they copied from the Ark files before they splintered off into their own group.

“Did you find something?” Clarke asks her.

She and Bellamy both know that when Raven’s not repairing the camp’s technology, she’s taken to studying the records for anything useful––old blueprints of earth buildings for their wannabe architects, almanac weather predictions that have turned out completely unpredictable after a century of radioactivity, recipes for new ways to prepare squirrel, _again._

“Yeah,” Raven says slowly. “I think so.”

“What?” Bellamy asks.

“Bunkers,” says Raven, “Three of them. But Miller and Wick hit up those four bunkers in the north last month, and they were empty. There’s no guarantee that these’ll have anything useful in them.”

“That’s great,” Clarke says firmly. “We can at least check them out.”

“We only survived the winter because of the _Trikru_ ’s generosity,” Bellamy adds. “But we can’t rely on them forever. Anything we find will help us survive.”

“The first one is two days from here,” Raven says. “Two days between the others, too.”

“We should go soon,” Clarke says. “Before someone blows up the camp or breaks a limb that we need to see to.”

“I’ll need tomorrow to prepare––leave at first light in two days?” he asks her. “Miller and Raven can keep things running while we’re gone.”

While Raven nods in acknowledgement, Clarke says, “I’ll work on preparing Harper to cover for me in medical if they need someone.”

Since the delinquents had been retrieved from Mount Weather, Harper doesn’t like to stray far from the camp––she only goes as far as the lake that separates their encampment from Camp Jaha. Clarke has been training her for the medbay, and learning to heal others has started to help Harper heal from her time at Dr. Tsing’s hands, too.

“We shouldn’t go alone,” Clarke adds, almost reluctantly.

“Two more for backup?” Bellamy suggests.

“I’ll ask Octavia and Lincoln,” Clarke replies. Bellamy grimaces, but Clarke knows that’s more from his innate discomfort at watching his sister being exceptionally affectionate with the other man than with Lincoln himself. But whatever else they are, Octavia and Lincoln are both fearsome fighters.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

The three of them sit back down with the others around the fires.

“Listen up,” Bellamy says. “Raven found something…”

* * *

 

According to Lincoln, all three bunkers are in neutral territory, which means no grounders will be offended by their presence. It bodes well for their chances of finding useful goods––they’re less likely to have been disturbed. But it also means that the animal population hasn’t been disturbed, and Lincoln’s already warned them that they might be getting into a whole shitload of danger.

Their friends are all gathered around them as they check their gear one last time. Bellamy hands Clarke a wrapped parcel of jerky and a sack of apricots for her to stow away and then stoops a little out of habit; she absently presses her lips to his cheek.

(None of the others react––they’ve been seeing this happen for months now. And they shouldn’t make a big deal of it. And it’s not. A big deal, that is. It’s just how they show their appreciation for each other, she justifies to herself.)

“All set for medical?” Clarke asks Harper as she shoulders her pack.

Harper nods and gives Clarke a small, nervous smile. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“You’ve got this,” Bellamy tells her. “You did a great job stitching this up.” He points to a three inch scar on his palm that’s barely visible.

“Yeah, but Clarke was there to help me if I messed up,” Harper reminds him, biting her lip.

“You won’t mess up,” Clarke tells her. “And if you do need help with something–– _if,_ ” she stresses, “Contact Camp Jaha. Jackson can help you. Or my mom.”

Harper grimaces. “I’ll ask Jackson. If I have to.”

Clarke smiles and Bellamy lets out a full on laugh.

“Monty, Jasper…” Bellamy pauses. The two are listening attentively. “Don’t blow anything up.”

“Hey!” they protest.

“Miller,” Clarke says.

“Yeah?”

“Make _sure_ they don’t blow anything up.”

“ _Hey_!”

“I’ll try.” His voice is dry as the desert. Monty and Jasper immediately stop squawking at Bellamy and Clarke, and begin to insist to Miller that they _haven’t blown anything up in weeks, honest_ and _that one time last Friday doesn’t count_!

“You guys finally ready?” Octavia asks them. She’s been watching the proceedings with a highly amused smile, Lincoln holding her hand.

They both nod in response before Clarke says, “Wait. Where’s Raven?”

“I’m here, I’m here, don’t get your panties in a twist.” She’s hurrying toward them, now only slightly hampered by her leg with the improvements she’s made to her brace.

“Here,” she says, thrusting something at Clarke. “Radio. Just in case.”

“This’ll reach?” Bellamy asks. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Raven nods. “Of course it’ll reach. Do you still doubt me after all this time?” Both Clarke and Bellamy shake their heads and thank her.

“Bring me a souvenir,” Raven says. “And try not to die.”

“We’ll do our best,” Clarke says. “See you guys when we get back.” The next few minutes are a flurry of shouted goodbyes and laughter and a few tackle-hugs from the others.

(“Maybe they won’t come back,” she hears Murphy say as he walks away; the following yelp when Monroe hits him makes Clarke smile.)

As the delinquents are finally scattering back to their normal duties, the four tighten the straps of their packs and prepare to leave. Miller lingers so he can secure the gate after them.

"When will you be back?" he asks.

Bellamy shrugs. "As soon as we've hit all three bunkers.”

“Do you have an estimate?" Clarke asks Lincoln. He has more knowledge of the terrain than any of them.

"It will take at least seven days to reach all three," he replies. "Our return speed will be determined by what we find."

Clarke nods and turns back to Miller. "We'll shoot for two weeks."

"Don't wait up," Octavia grins.

* * *

 

Once they’re out of the gates and well into the woods, Octavia starts chattering. Mostly she’s talking to Bellamy and Clarke in _Trigedasleng_ , and they hesitantly respond in their growing vocabulary.

Lincoln’s silent but for the occasional answer to Octavia’s questions about a word. He’s basically the epitome of the strong and silent type, Clarke thinks. (Clarke still feels sick sometimes about what they did to him when they first met, but he has a capacity for forgiveness that amazes her. She tries to be worthy of his forgiveness.)

They are met with no opposition from the wildlife while they travel, so they make it to the first bunker two days after they leave camp. By the time they locate the entrance to the bunker, Lincoln’s visibly tense, keeping a lookout while Bellamy pries open the rusted entrance.

It comes free with a screech and Clarke darts inside, flashlight and gun out, just in case something unpleasant had managed to survive inside.

But it’s clear all too soon that nothing inside has survived––not even an old blanket or a water glass. The bunker isn’t tiny, but it isn’t large either––when Octavia joins Clarke in the bunker they can clearly see the empty racks and tipped over barrels that fill the space. Whatever this place once held has long ago been taken.

Clarke sighs.

“There’s nothing,” she calls up to Bellamy, who’s making sure the door can’t accidentally slam shut with the two women inside. “The barrels could be useful for rainwater, I guess, but they’re not worth hauling back to camp right now.”

While Octavia investigates the metal barrels just in case anything was missed or stowed away from sight, Bellamy replies, “If we find nothing at the other two, we could––”

“Octavia. Clarke.” Lincoln’s voice is sharp and low, and they’re instantly clambering their way out of the bunker, hands on their weapons. Bellamy lets the door to the bunker seal shut and joins them, facing out at the forest.

“What is it?” Octavia asks. Her eyes are searching the trees like Clarke’s.

“I noticed some of the signs as we approached,” Lincoln replied. “ _Pauna_.”

Clarke feels the blood rush from her face but tightens her grip on her gun.

_Gorilla._

Bellamy’s hand touches her shoulder briefly. Then she hears him shifting, readying his gun. Clarke has her handgun, but Bellamy has his semi-automatic. Thank god, Clarke thinks, _thank god._

It won’t be like it was when she and Lexa were ambushed in the woods, armed with a sword and a single handgun.

And it’s not––when the hulking creature comes screaming through the trees, Clarke isn’t caught unawares with no idea what they’re facing, there’s no frantic running through the woods, there’re only four warriors screaming right back and nonstop bullets sending it crashing to the ground.

It’s not dead yet when it comes to a stop four yards from them; it’s limbs are twitching from the pain but the mutated flesh is too tough for even bullets to penetrate far enough for a killshot. But its eyes aren’t protected like the rest of it, and it’s dead seconds later, and Lincoln and Octavia are cleaning off their swords.

Clarke searches the trees, notes the still body, the easy lines of Lincoln’s muscles and deduces that there are no others. She tucks the gun into her waistband, turns, vomits as the tremors and terror and adrenaline are finally allowed free rein.

Familiar warm hands are soothing on her back, and then others––Octavia’s––pull her hair away from her face. She finishes and wipes at her mouth, but keeps her face to the ground. Her face is hot and she hates that that animal _,_ of all things, after all this time on the ground, is what brings her to this.

“Clarke,” she hears then, but it’s not Bellamy’s voice like she expects, or even Octavia’s. She looks up at Lincoln in surprise. He doesn’t smile at her, which she appreciates, because that would feel like coddling, but his eyes are gentle and his voice is kind when he says, “We should leave.”

She nods and shifts away from the Blakes. “I’m ready,” she replies. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * *

 

That night, Clarke’s nightmare is one she hasn’t had in a long time. It’s only been months, but it usually feels like so long ago that she and Lexa had been scrambling to put together a rescue plan for their peoples.

That day, in the woods with Byrne, whom she had never liked but never wanted to see like _that,_ turning to the side so that the absence of her limb is a horrible, sickening shock, blood pouring from the wound like water from a tap––

And in her dream Clarke is clinging to the edge of a pit, spikes protruding like jagged teeth from the ground underneath her, and Byrne is standing on the edge filling the pit with impossible amounts of blood from her ruined shoulder, and asking if Clarke wants _bubbles_ and the blood’s reached her ankles and it’s _warm_ and her hands are cold, and she _can’t hold on_ ––

When she wakes, it’s to Bellamy’s breath on her face and his palms pressed to her shoulders.

He’s saying something, and in her foggy state it takes her a moment to realize it’s her name, low and fast and over and over again.

“ _Clarke._ ”

“I’m okay,” she whispers, and he stops. A moment later his forehead presses against hers.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” he whispers back. “Which one?”

She knows what he is asking. He knows all of her nightmares, just like she knows all of his. “Byrne.”

Beyond Bellamy, she can just make out Lincoln’s shape, sitting against the edge of a massive oak tree and keeping watch. Clarke can’t see her, but she imagines Octavia is asleep next to him; she can hear the girl’s even breaths.

The forest air is cold and she shivers as the panic-sweat on her skin begins to cool. Clarke shifts closer to Bellamy until she’s pressed up against his side, cheek turned to rest against his heart. Then she feels the clammy, slightly sticky chill of his skin against hers and cranes her head back to meet his eyes. They’re entirely black in the night like this.

“What did you dream?” Clarke breathes quietly, not wanting to draw Lincoln’s attention to their wakeful state or to wake Octavia.. Bellamy doesn’t have to tell her if he doesn’t want to, and they both know it––that’s not how this late night relationship works.

He’s quiet for a long time, and she’s nearly dozed off, thinking he’s chosen not to tell her, when he speaks.

“A new one,” he says, and she can barely hear him even though his mouth is so close to her.

“Gorilla?”

“Yeah. And you.”

She doesn’t say anything in response––that’s not how this late night relationship works, either. She reaches up to touch his face, and he’s the one to press his mouth to her cheek this time. Then they just curl around each other, as close as they can get, and let the silence lull them back into sleep until next watch.

* * *

 

The second bunker, when they reach it without incident, doesn’t have a lot remaining but what’s left has been untouched for a long time. They all load up their packs with more blankets, woolen but warm, utilitarian clothing, a few cookpots, a bunch of canteens.

“Even just these would make the trip worth it,” Octavia says as they trudge away from the now-empty bunker. “Imagine how excited people will be about a new pair of underwear.” She pauses for a second. “Will I get in trouble if I take two pairs?”

Bellamy laughs at her, and Clarke smiles when he musses his sister’s braids.

* * *

 

They’ve spent half a day combing the area.

“Where the hell _is it_?” Clarke grumbles, pushing her hair out of her face for the millionth time. She lets out a wordless grunt of irritation that has Octavia grabbing her by the hand and leading her over to a big rock.

“Sit,” Octavia commands. “Let me put your hair up.”

“The tie broke,” Clarke says irritably, and she swears she can feel Octavia roll her eyes.

“ _Luckily,_ ” the girl replies, “tying a couple strands of hair together and calling it done isn’t the only way to get your hair out of your eyes.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Clarke protests, though she makes no move to get up when Octavia’s hands start running through her hair, scratching and soothing her scalp. “We need to find that damn bunker.”

Bellamy’s voice comes floating to her from some distance away. “Shut up, Clarke!”

“Hey!” Clarke says, “It’s important! We don’t have time for hairstyling.”

Bellamy and Octavia ignore her.

“Lincoln?” Clarke tries. “Tell them we should all be looking for the door.”

There’s a brief silence; then, “Shut up, Clarke!”

Clarke is gaping and Octavia is laughing the hardest Clarke’s ever heard her laugh as Lincoln’s dry words fade from the air. Clarke crosses her arms; honestly, it’s not _that_ funny, it’s not as if the man _never_ cracks a joke (... _has_ he ever cracked a joke?), and would those damned Blakes just shut the hell up already?

Octavia sucks in one last shuddering breath before her giggles fade into the occasional chuckle and her hands are back in Clarke’s hair.

Clarke sighs and then jumps when Octavia pokes her in the side.

“Stop stressing,” Octavia commands. “You’re bumming me out, and we’re fine on time. Or did you forget how we didn’t spend the night at the first bunker and gained nearly a day by continuing on?”

“Whatever,” Clarke mumbles.

“There,” Octavia says triumphantly, patting Clarke on the head. “All done.”

Clarke touches her hair but can’t tell much other than it’s braided in several sections, and the ends are tied together in knots to keep the strands from drifting into her face while she moves.

“Thanks,” Clarke says reluctantly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Octavia says, “Now get your butt moving. We’ve got a bunker to find!”

Another hour into it, and either the records were wrong about the coordinates or the builders had been _really good_ at hiding the entrance to the final bunker. Clarke is sick and tired of looking, and when the panther springs yowling into the clearing they’re currently searching it’s almost a relief. She’s the one to take this creature down; a single shot and Clarke’s wondering if she’s going crazy, wishing that the fight had been a little more exciting, or had at least taken a little longer.

“Guess what we’re eating for dinner,” she calls to Bellamy, who’s watching her with a funny expression, his hands frozen in the middle of attempting to position his gun. Then he really _looks_ at her face, and she smiles winningly, and he sighs.

“I’ll get to work,” he says, and moves to the dead panther’s side. Leaving him to prepare their evening meal, Clarke is about to start ripping up goddamned _trees_ if that’ll help her find that bunker when Bellamy calls them all back over.

“Look what our buddy brought to our attention,” he says wryly, and god _damnit_ , the thing is on top of a filthy metal door half grown-over with moss.

Lincoln and Bellamy shift the animal off the door and Octavia and Clarke dig it out as best as they can. They’re sweaty and gross by the time they finish and Clarke’s just grateful that Octavia’s just as stubborn and bossy as her brother because with her hair _down_ and sticking to her skin, she would have killed somebody by now.

The third bunker is the jackpot, at least in the way of technology. Once they force their way into the bunker, Octavia and Clarke find a heap of old electronics: laptops, iPods, radio-controlled toys. There are even _actual_ radios, not hodgepodged ones! A travel case full of old DVDs and a couple e-readers make Clarke especially happy––they might not be useful in the strictest sense, but who knows what kinds of books could be pulled off of them, what kind of films might be in here that hadn’t made it to the Ark’s archives?

They eat well that night and redistribute their packs to hold the newfound supplies and the extra cooked meat. Clarke radios Raven with an update and teases her with a promise of a surprise when they return. Later she and Bellamy take first watch, silent but warm as they lean against each other, watching the stars come out through the leaves.

* * *

 

It is a long, tiring trek back to camp loaded up with all the new supplies, but at least they can cut a straight path for their return. The return trip takes three days instead of six, and whatever gods there are must be smiling on them because no creatures end up taking advantage of their weighed-down-with-goods, easily-killable state.

As they approach the camp gates and hear the shouts of kids noticing their approach, Clarke reaches out and tugs at Bellamy’s shirt. He looks at her questioningly, but she realizes that she’s not sure what she meant to say to him.

Eventually, she manages, “This was good.”

Bellamy hums in agreement. “We needed to at least try looking for the supplies,” he says. “And we sure as hell needed the break from camp.”

Clarke sighs. “I know. Is it wrong that I just wanted to get away from everyone for a while? To just do _whatever_ for a couple of days?”

“Whatever the hell you want, huh, princess?” Bellamy teases.

She digs her elbow into his side with a little smile. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.”

“It’s not wrong,” Bellamy says after a moment. “I know what you mean.” His hand finds hers where it’s still attached to his shirt, pulls her hand away, and laces her fingers with his own instead.

Once they arrive in camp, they are greeted enthusiastically by their friends while they hand off their packs. Free of their burdens, Lincoln and Octavia head off to the lake to bathe.

“Oh!” Clarke calls after Miller, who has both her pack and Bellamy’s, “Take those to the cooks first! There’s some panther meat left that should still be good.”

Miller nods, and Clarke sighs happily as she turns to Bellamy. She notices that he’s recaptured her hand, and there’s a strange look on his face that causes an equally strange sensation in her stomach.

“What?” she asks. He says nothing, just keeps looking at her.

“Okay, weirdo,” she says, “if you’re not going to talk I’m going to clean up.” She turns to head to her cabin, but she’s stopped in place by Bellamy’s grip. Before she can even open her mouth to question him again, he’s pulled her into him. She lets out an _oof_ when she crashes against his chest, and her mouth _does_ open, this time to yell at him except then his mouth is on _hers_ (on her _lips,_ not her cheek or her forehead or even her nose like that one time) and she can’t make a sound other than a tiny surprised squeak.

His lips are chapped, but so are hers, and the little ways they catch and rub against each other are so _interesting_ and she’s really not sure why it’s taken them so long to try this out. (She hears loud cheering and a couple catcalls in the background––Wick yells “Encore!”––and _really_ , Bellamy? In front of all the kids?)

When his mouth leaves hers, she stares at him, bewildered (because he stopped kissing her, she wonders, or because he started kissing her in the first place?).

“Why…” she clears her throat. “Why’d you do that?”

Bellamy’s grin seems part smug, part nervous. “Is it wrong that I just wanted to do it?”

Clarke narrows her eyes at him. “Whatever the hell you want?” she quotes.

“Uh,” Bellamy stutters now, obviously feeling like he’s on treacherous ground, Clarke thinks in satisfaction. “Whatever the hell _we_ want?” he offers.

Clarke lets him squirm for a while, his grin getting less smug and more nervous by the second. Finally, she puts him out of his misery.

“Yeah, Bellamy. Whatever the hell we want.” With that, she pulls _him_ into _her_ and kisses him.

(“Yes!” she vaguely hears someone yelling, quickly followed by a yelp.

“Shut _up_ , Wick!” she hears Raven hiss.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second in a series of oneshots based on b-ellamyblakes tumblr prompts for BellarkeFicWeek 2015. They're set in the canon universe, but they were written pre-Rubicon and they're going to stay that way.
> 
> WOW this Road Trip AU prompt drove me nuts.
> 
> Just a reminder, the series of oneshots are connected stories, so if you're interested in reading more about this particular Bellamy and Clarke, go ahead and check those out!


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